


Lallikatt

by Kat_o_nine_Tails



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Emil Is a Cat Person, Fluff, Fylgja, Lalli Is Basically a Big Cat, M/M, Patron Gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_o_nine_Tails/pseuds/Kat_o_nine_Tails
Summary: Emil Västerström was very much a cat person. Lalli Hotakainen was basically a big cat walking on two legs (literally in some ways). Was it really any surprise they gravitated toward each other?
Relationships: Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström
Comments: 27
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is horrible right now and life is punching me from all sides. SSSS is amazing and pretty and one of the few things holding me above water right now. Wrote this during a sleepless night waiting for my results.

Initially, Emil had joined the Cleansers because whoever had drawn the recruitment posters had accidentally hit the heart of his pyromaniac tendencies. Emil had taken one look at the drawing of a dust cloud of an explosion and marched down to the recruitment office, still in his school clothes. But he had seen the poster in early spring, and hadn’t had much patience to wait until summer when it was actually the time to set something on fire. 

In retrospect, the poor recruitment officer had showed the patience of a saint when dealing with Emil. 

“Okay, look,” he’d finally cut Emil’s rant off after about ten minutes of extolling his virtues in the way of fire and explosions, “You saw the poster, right? This early in the spring, if you go about setting everything on fire you’ll have your boots full of vermin beast in five minutes.”

“But-” the officer held up a hand before Emil could get started again.

“ _However,_ ” he said with perhaps more emphasis than was strictly needed, “A bit of extra time to learn your way around a flamethrower is always good. Keeps the burn unit medics happy, anyway. You’re over sixteen and immune, right?” Emil nodded enthusiastically. “Then you’re eligible to sign up for training on Monday. But you won’t be able to sit on your ass the whole spring without pulling your weight, understood?”

“Understood, sir!” Emil sat up straighter, displaying every single one of his pearly whites in an enormous grin, “What would I be doing in between lessons?”

The recruitment officer looked at Emil, with his shiny hair and chubby cheeks and obvious ignorance, and almost felt guilty for agreeing to this. But they were always short-staffed, especially when it came to immune individuals, and this one was at least enthusiastic. He sighed and lamented that he was not paid enough for this shit.

“How do you feel about working with cats?”

Emil was surprised, but he did recall something about sending in the cats in the spring. “I’m great with them!” he said, and he wasn’t even exaggerating this time, “My mother loved them, and she used to collect those she said weren’t cut out for military duty and I mostly took care of them. And they liked me a lot. Actual military cats aren’t that much different, right?”

The recruitment officer breathed a slight sigh of relief and promptly signed his name on some forms he then handed to Emil. “Fill this out and come back here on Monday with your immunity records. Ask for Forsberg and give him this.” 

And that was the beginning of Emil Västerström’s illustrious career as a Cleanser.

Aunt Siv and Uncle Torbjörn despaired up until Emil told them that he would actually start receiving a salary and his meals would be provided for at the military mess hall. They were very helpful with the paperwork after that.

Lessons on various explosive and fiery devices were three times a week, lasting a full month and ending with a written and practical exam, which Emil found far more fascinating than anything else his tutors and teachers tried to cram into his head. He was even taking notes in class and reading of his own volition! Aunt Siv nearly wept with joy. Up until he started repeating his lessons about the wondrous uses for nitro-glycerine to his cousins. Then he was politely begged to stop.

In between lessons, he was cat-sitting.

At first, Emil wasn’t very well received, his spoiled nature not exactly making him popular amongst his peers. Within the first week he’d fallen into his habit of sulking to himself with his nose buried in a book. Though this time, the book in question was an actual textbook, so it had earned him a reputation as a nerd as well.

But then it became warm enough to send in the cats, and after seeing his immunity record and the note about having experience with handling cats, Frida of the Cat Squad came to find him one day, even asking for him by name.

After that, things started properly looking up.

Basically, Emil’s job was to help carry a small metal tank in which the cats roaming the ruins would deposit the corpses of the vermin they found and set the contents on fire every so often. It smelled god-awful, and had turned Emil’s stomach every time for the first two weeks. Frida had taken pity on him and sent him to sit until his stomach settled.

A few days in, the cats started approaching him.

Every cat handler was given a bag of cat treats to help keep the cats motivated, and with the Grade A fully trained cats a bag of treats could keep them working the whole day. But no matter how well trained a cat was, if it decided it was time for a break, there was nothing a handler could do except let them take a break.

Emil had been given armbands that the cats were trained to recognise as marking a handler. So when a cat decided it was time for a break, and saw a handler sitting still and quiet, it was only natural to approach.

Emil may have been spoiled and feeling wretched, but no matter how awful he felt he would never in his life treat a cat badly. If a cat came up to him, it got a treat. If it felt up to sticking around for a bit, it got ear or rump scritches. If it decided Emil’s lap was the perfect place to take a nap, it was only right to pet it gently until it purred louder than a chainsaw. When the other cats saw their littermate having the time of its life with this one particular handler, they warmed up to him very quickly as well.

So, Emil did end up being popular as he had wished, even if it wasn’t in the way he’d envisioned it.

Even better, once the smell of burning Beasts stopped turning his stomach he was back on tank-hauling duty and this time he was even allowed to set them on fire himself. And, as usual, any cat that deposited a vermin Beast into the tank, even if it wasn’t the one assigned to his area, got a treat and a scritch behind its ears and even a bit more involved petting if it brought back a particularly big Beast.

The other handlers quickly noticed that whatever area Emil was assigned to was cleared the fastest, and the cats that had been assigned to the same handler for years promptly displayed all the loyalty felines were known for by abandoning them to seek pets from Emil.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have made it far as cat handlers if they weren’t used to the fickle nature of their charges, so instead of resenting Emil they clapped him on the back and started calling him the Cat Whisperer. Emil had never felt so smug in his life.

Then summer came and he passed his exams with something that could be considered flying colors. He was given a flamethrower and inflicted on anything even remotely flammable at the border of the Silent World, which he did with great relish. Then autumn came, and Emil was even further weaponised, though he was explicitly forbidden from ever even coming close to the wrecking ball again, for everyone’s sakes.

There wasn’t much to do in winter, save training with new and interesting equipment, and improving his aim with the rifle. And if there was one good thing to say about the slop the mess hall tried to pass off as food, it made Emil lose weight until he looked almost slim, and hauling equipment and wielding a flamethrower had made him build up a decent amount of muscle.

All in all, Emil was satisfied. He finally had people who respected him and while the Cleanser salary wasn’t his idea of a fortune, he had found his passion in setting things on fire and being surrounded by cats.

He was still waiting on the fame and fortune part of the job, though.

That was where Siv and Torbjörn’s idea came in.

Frida had assured him that he wasn’t really needed during winter and that his job as a Cat Whisperer was safe when he returned in spring. That was all it took for Emil to pack his bags, say goodbye to his coworkers and get on the train to Mora.

He’d fretted the whole way there about what would his new teammates be like. Would they like him? Would he finally make real friends? If he didn’t he would still be stuck with these people for up to three months. The only thing to do was to make an impeccable first impression! And these people were coming from Finland, so they definitely didn’t know anything about what Emil used to look and be like. How hard would it be to make friends?

Surprisingly easy, as it turned out, even with the disastrous first impression.

Tuuri spoke Swedish just fine, was nice and just as enthusiastic as Emil was about the mission. He was absolutely positive they would work great together.

And Lalli…

At first Emil was worried he’d ruined his chances beyond repair considering Lalli’s standoffish attitude and his lack of Swedish. But upon seeing Lalli hiss at his cousins for trying to poke him, napping in odd places, staring unblinkingly at Emil while he ate and stealing his lunchmeat, Emil decided they were going to get along just fine.

After all, Emil wasn’t called the Cat Whisperer for nothing. This cat was a bit bigger than he was used to and technically human, but Emil knew a cat when he saw one and he knew how to make friends with them.

This trip was going to go just fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Swedish and Danish here were achieved with Google Translate because I don't speak a word of either. I apologize in advance.

Lalli was, in general, a solitary creature. Which was good, because people saw his frosty, disagreeable attitude and mostly left him to his own devices, and this way the lack of company didn’t bother him. Lalli ran through the woods at night, came back to write his scouting reports, eat and then sleep, with minimal aberrations to that schedule, which suited him just fine.

Until Tuuri had gotten them signed up to this ridiculous mission to the Silent World and forced him to be in a moving death-trap with four-and-later-five other people constantly in his space, only one of which he shared a language with. 

Lalli had grumbled to himself the entire way there and generally hated it the entire time, but a mission was still a mission, and at least Tuuri wasn’t going alone this way. Onni would have probably been crying for real if she was.

And at least one of his teammates was more or less alright.

Emil didn’t get angry when Lalli stole that ham from him, just got more for both of them. He fixed his hair, shooed his small relatives away from him and seemed to genuinely try and connect with Lalli. He approached Lalli’s personal space but didn’t intrude on it, backed off when he noticed Lalli was uncomfortable, and when a Troll attacked the train he tried to protect Lalli, for all that it wasn’t necessary.

So yes, even if he was a little ridiculous he was by far the most tolerable one of Lalli’s teammates.

The fat one noticed that too, so Emil was assigned to the decontamination procedure whenever Lalli returned from his nightly scouting. And Emil was frustratingly good at keeping Lalli in the tub and scrubbing him everywhere, no matter how much Lalli tried to squirm away after just a basic spraydown. He also insisted on Lalli eating that disgusting porridge before going to sleep, even though it only stayed down if Lalli was already asleep by the time the tank started moving.

Today was not one of those days.

“Urk!” Lalli hurried to slap a hand over his mouth before he threw up all over his bedding. The fat one did all the laundry, and he’d already shown he had no trouble or compunctions about manhandling Lalli. He wasn’t eager to find out what would happen if he had to clean up Lalli’s vomit from the sheets.

“Kan vi åtminstone sakta ner lite?” Emil asked someone above him in that gibberish language. The tall, loud one replied something that sounded even more incomprehensible, but Lalli could guess from her tone that it was probably a negative answer to a question he could already guess.

So he was stuck feeling sick and miserable. He knew why they couldn’t stop now, that stopping before sundown would probably end up badly for them. The more distance they put between those things and themselves the better. Lalli knew they couldn’t stop just on his count.

It still didn’t make his stomach feel any better.

And it was made even worse by that stupid one dangling his braid over Lalli’s head and blathering in that even more stupid gibberish than the rest of them spoke. Lalli cracked open one eye to growl at him and bat away that ridiculous braid of his.

Luckily, Emil came to his rescue and shooed the stupid one away. Then he sat down on one of the pull-down bedboards and looked at Lalli with an expression of worry and pity. 

Emil was what Onni would call a Bleeding Heart, and Lalli had to agree. Emil was so open and compassionate and leaked empathy all over the place. If he had been a mage he would have been dead already, because the first time he heard a restless ghost he would have walked right into its clutches with no regard for his personal safety, on some misguided conviction he had to save it. Luckily, he wasn’t the least bit magical, so that left him alive and sane to direct all that kindness and empathy towards Lalli, and he couldn’t even complain about that because Emil was probably the first person he’d made friends with who wasn’t related to him.

The tank lurched driving over a rock and Lalli’s thoughts were interrupted by his stomach trying to crawl out of his body through his mouth. He whined in abject misery and curled into a tighter ball. He barely registered Emil kneeling down next to him until the ridiculous Swede put his hand over Lalli’s eyes and said something to him softly.

He kept his hand over Lalli’s eyes and a constant stream of gentle nonsense until, the miracle of all miracles, Lalli’s stomach actually settled a bit. But then the stupid Swede _took his hand away_ and Lalli’s nausea returned just as bad as before.

He had to do everything himself around here, didn’t he?

The moment Emil sat back down on his own bed, Lalli pushed himself up to glare at him. When the idiot still didn’t get the hint Lalli crawled up to the bed and proceeded to settle himself on Emil’s lap. For his part, Emil froze awkwardly with his hands in the air, but Lalli wasn’t too worried. If Emil was uncomfortable with this arrangement, he would push Lalli off. He would probably be gentle about it too, because Emil was just that nice.

So Lalli felt exactly zero guilt in finding the most comfortable position on Emil’s lap, which ended up with his upper body over Emil’s thighs and his arms wrapped around his waist, with his face buried in the side of Emil’s black thermal undersuit. He curled his legs up until he was practically in a fetal position but with Emil’s waist in between his chest and knees.

Emil must have figured out what Lalli was doing and didn’t mind, because he wrapped his arms around Lalli so his head was supported in the crook of Emil’s elbow, and with his other hand he started petting Lalli’s side like he was a cat. The stream of gentle gibberish resumed with a note of amusement in it.

Lalli didn’t even care. With his nose buried in Emil’s abdomen, the only thing he could smell was the scent of sweat, soap and bonfire. It was familiar and strangely comforting. After about a minute of petting and careful breathing, Lalli could feel his stomach settling even though the ride was just as bumpy as before.

Maybe he was too quick to dismiss Emil as totally magicless.

“Mrrrrh,” Lalli sighed into Emil’s waist and finally relaxed. Positioned like this, the bumpy ride almost felt like being rocked to sleep. He’d almost dozed off when the stupid one said something he evidently thought was funny.

“Jag är ganska säker på att jag hörde ordet "katt". Jag antar att han verkligen är som en stor katt,” Emil giggled to himself. “Lalli-katt.”

Okay, Lalli didn’t need to speak gibberish to understand that last one. And he wasn’t a cat, his Luonto was a _lynx_ , thank you very much. In retaliation, he opened his mouth and bit at the flesh right under Emil’s lowermost rib. It was only a warning nip, really, but the way Emil startled you’d think Lalli had bitten off a piece of meat. Then Emil must have realized it wasn’t a serious bite because he didn’t even let go of Lalli. He just laughed quietly.

“Du inser att du precis har bevisat att jag har rätt?” he jabbered, but Lalli could tell it wasn’t mocking. Emil never mocked anything except the fat one’s accent, and certainly not Lalli. So he settled back into the most comfortable position when- _Oh Yes. Yesssssss._

With the inside of Emil’s elbow supporting Lalli’s head, the fingers of that same hand were in the perfect position to scratch right between Lalli’s shoulderblades and _oh_ Emil better keep doing that if he didn’t want to be bitten again. In fact, he should keep doing that forever, because Lalli certainly wasn’t moving anytime soon.

“ _Prrrrrh,”_ he made an appreciative noise and wiggled in place, which Emil correctly interpreted as a hint to broaden his scratching area. Lalli curled up closer to him, wrapping himself around Emil like he was one of those constrictor snakes about to strangle their meal. He dug his fingers into the back of Emil’s thermal undersuit, kneading like he wanted to return the favor. Emil still didn’t give any sign that he wanted to stop so Lalli didn’t bother restraining himself. This was the first bit of good feeling he’d had in the past- Actually, he wasn’t sure how long, but this felt really good and Emil wasn’t objecting, so Lalli wasn’t moving until somebody made him move.

That, unfortunately, was much sooner than Lalli wanted to.

“Okay, vi fandt et sted at stoppe. Spejderen bliver nødt til-” the fat one was saying until he abruptly cut himself off, and at the same moment Emil went tense as a bowstring and started stuttering about something. Well, it was nice while it lasted, but apparently duty called. Lalli extracted himself from Emil’s lap sulkily and glared at the fat one for a moment before skipping off towards the front where Tuuri was already pulling out the new map.

“Hey, Lalli. How are you feeling?” Tuuri asked him when she saw him coming.

“Mrr, better,” Lalli stretched and yawned. He didn’t even feel any of the lingering nausea from the ride.

Maybe there really was a drop or two of magical blood in Emil. Hopefully he would be up for showing it again the next time Lalli got sick. His lap was surprisingly comfy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun contemplates her companions and their gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack! This isn't leaving me alone.  
> Full of typos because my internet keeps cutting off. Sorry.

Sigrun had survived countless battles, against the odds that would have made the gods weep. She was the youngest yet most decorated captain of her generation. She once took out a Giant with noting but a grenade launcher wih no grenades and a Molotov cocktail! She was Sigrun Goddamn Eide! She knew no mortal was truly unbeatable, but she was pretty sure she was as close to it as humans could get!

And yet, it seemed she had finally met a foe worthy of her. The slow but steady foe, who was slowly gaining ground on Sigrun, the one who fought with dirty mind tricks that preyed on the sanity of even the strongest warriors until they simply couldn’t fight anymore! This was her end. This was her doom! Oh such an ignoble end for one such as she! To think, she would never get to taste the mead of Valhalla-

“Honestly, Sigrun,” Mikkel, the traitor, lowered the book he’d been reading to look at her with exasperation. “It’s only been two weeks. We still have two weeks of quarantine to go.”

“Njuuuuu!” Sigrun wailed into her pillow, “No! No more! I can’t take it! I’ve been living in the same five square meters-”

“It’s eight, actually.”

“-for the last two  _ months-” _

“Weeks, Sigrun.”

“-and I can feel my sanity slipping! When I die like this I won’t go to Valhalla, I’ll go to Hell! Where it’s cold and dreary and  _ boring!!!  _ No, worse,  _ it’s exactly like this place!!!” _

“It’s not so bad,” Mikkel shrugged, “Try doing so squats or pushups, a bit of physical exercise will help you vent and things won’t look so bleak afterwards. Besides, I thought it was below a Captain’s dignity to show weakness. Even Reynir is handling it better than you.”

Sigrun turned her head just a fraction from where it had been smushed into the pillow to peer at Reynir. To be fair, Mikkel was right, Mr. Attention-Span-of-a-Pigeon had been mostly quiet and still on his bed, either staring into space or humming to himself. 

“I think he’s gotten brain damage from boredom,” was Sigrun’s verdict.

“Then do as Emil has been doing,” Mikkel suggested with infuriating calm, “His Finnish is progressing quite nicely, from what I hear. Especially since his companion isn’t being very helpful.”

“I heard that!” Emil shouted from the other containment unit, though he didn’t even bother looking up from the typewriter he’d been abusing for the past hour. Now that two weeks had passed they were allowed to write and send letters, provided they’d been put under a UV light from both sides before they saw the light of day. With the whole ridiculous protocol in place, the letters would probably reach the recipient on the same day they themselves would be released, and since Emil’s aunt and uncle were waiting for them in Reykyavik anyway it seemed kinda’ pointless.

Mikkel had already written to his mother, and Reynir’s brother was on board and giving radio updates to their parents. Sigrun didn’t really see the point. Her parents knew she was either returning or she was toasting her fallen comrades in Valhalla, so they didn’t worry about her either way. 

Twiggy might have wanted to send something, but she wasn’t sure if he had anyone left to send letters to. Or at least, anyone who would want to read them, after coming back from the Silent World one cousin short.

“Uuuugh!” Sigrun threw her arms over her eyes. Great, she’d made herself sad again thinking about puffy-head. Here she was, moaning about not getting to go to Valhalla when she didn’t even know where Tuuri had gone. She knew different gods took care of the Finns, but she had no idea what they were like. Did they have something similar to Valhalla and Hell? Puffy had said something about Tuon-something and something about a swan collection souls to a place of eternal sleep. Odin’s beard, that sounded  _ boring.  _ What was even the point of the afterlife if you couldn’t enjoy it?! 

She hoped that all those Finns in the Tuon-place were at least having nice dreams, then. 

Unwittingly, her eyes were drawn to the only remaining Finn in their group. Despite Emil’s best efforts, Twiggy had mostly been hiding under his bed and staring at nothing, except he didn’t even twitch like Braidy. The depressive episode which she and Braidy had worked through back in the Silent World was just now catching up to him, right at the moment when they were in the worst possible position to help. No Mikkel to bonk him over the head with a bottle of sludge or stuff snow down his jacket. Just Emil almost desperately trying to learn Finnish to at least try and talk to him. 

Gods, she was going to get into another depressive episode  _ herself  _ if she didn’t bloody well  _ do something.  _ She rolled out of bed and landed on her hands and toes, immediately starting to do pushups. Might as well follow the resident doctor’s advi-

“Ouch!” Sigrun gripped her injured arm barely ten pushups in, “Mikkel! I thought you said my arm is getting better!”

“It is, but you’ve still lost some muscle mass while resting it.” Mikkel didn’t even look up from his book. “I would recommend stretching and light exercise before putting yourself through your usual reps.”

“You’re the one who suggested pushups!”

“I did? My mistake.”

Gods-damned mutineer. Sigrun grumbled to herself but she sat back on her bed and did those stretches one of the healer Mages had showed her when she sprained her elbow a year ago. It was that same arm, no less. The gods must have been laughing. 

At least one god in particular was, and that was Loki. And he’d probably been  _ personally  _ involved in making Mikkel. Didn’t that one story say that Loki had gone and lived as a woman on Earth, and even married a human man and had children with him? Yeah, she wouldn’t put it past Loki. And she’d eat her arm if Mikkel wasn’t a descendant of those kids, if Loki didn’t just straight up do it again and Mikkel’s father had gotten a shock of his life one day.

Proof? She got proof. Wide knowledge of pretty much everything? Surprisingly helpful one moment yet messing with everyone’s heads the next? Saved everyone’s asses and then almost sold them to a Giant? Truly, the bajillion krona question, was she talking about Mikkel or Loki? The contestants are sweating in their seats. There is no right answer. It’s both! Muahahahahaha!

“Do I dare ask why you’re grinning in my direction with that look in your eyes?” Mikkel asked, chill as you please.

“Hey, Mikkel! If you were Loki in disguise you’d tell me, right?” 

Mikkel gave her a  _ look.  _ “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of my disguise?”

“Aha!” Sigrun pointed at him in triumf, “That’s a confession if I ever saw one!”

“I said no such thing,” Mikkel said mildly, but he was smiling that knowing smile that meant he knew something Sigrun didn’t and was taking great delight in doing so. 

Fine, she supposed it wouldn’t exactly be wise to reveal it on a ship full of strangers. She mimed zipping her lips and winked mischievously, and then returned to her stretches as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Though, that little revelation did get her thinking. Her mother said that, when they were born, each person was granted the patronage of one of the gods, and the god that decided to take them as their own gave the baby a Fylgja, a companion spirit animal. That was true for all those of the Nordic heritage, even the godless Swedes and Danes. Sigrun’s father said that Thor had taken one look at her with her fire hair and warrior spirit and knocked all the other gods out of the way to claim her for his own. 

Sigrun had loved that tale, and lived every day in an effort to be worthy of that honor. She supposed her Fylgja would be a goat, like those that pulled Thor’s chariot. Sigrun had definitely butted enough heads with her enemies and comrades alike to earn one. 

Mikkel’s was trickier. Loki had many and varied tastes, though if she followed the belief that the Fylgja reflected one’s personality, coupled with Loki’s history, she would say it was a horse. One of those big, thick ones that towered over you and could pull a tank by themselves. Plus, she was pretty sure they came from the Old Denmark, or at least from around that area. Yep, Mikkel’s was definitely a horse.

Emil was the easiest by far. No way anyone could look at him and not figure out he was by far the favorite of the Goddess Freya! Probably would have been a mage if he was a girl, or at least if he wasn’t a godless Swede. It just showed how generous Freya was, to bless someone so abundantly with her gifts when they didn’t even believe in her. But seriously, look at the kid! Golden, shiny hair, a pretty face, kind to a fault yet with a warrior spirit hidden underneath, he practically had Freya’s seal branded on his ass! Actually, considering she’d never actually seen Emil’s ass, she might be totally right! She’d have to take a peek the next time they hit the showers, to see if he had any telling birthmarks! Might change the poor heathen's mind about his heathen ways. 

Now, Freya had a chariot pulled by cats, but while Emil definitely struck her as a cat person, his personality didn’t  _ quite  _ fit the cat Fylgja. That was more Twiggy’s thing. She didn’t know if the Finns had Fylgjur or at least something similar, but if they did, his was definitely a cat. He was beholden to different gods, so Sigrun couldn’t accurately say what kind of cat they deemed fit to bestow upon Twiggy, but it was  _ definitely  _ a cat.

Anyway, back to Emil. Hmm, what kind of animal would Freya give him if not a cat? Definitely a cat-friendly one. Preferably with golden fur. A dog then? Maybe one of those retriever types Skeggi kept. Old Skeggi had gone blind in a Troll attack, so he’d trained his dog, Besla, to recognise the names of places and take him there. Luckily for him, he was a strategist, so even though he couldn’t actually lead troops in battle he could still yell at them to get up off their asses and dance to his tune. Plus, he walked around with a long white staff, and when a Troll tried attacking him once Skeggi had stabbed it with his staff right through the eye! Nobody dared to question his battle prowess after that.

Anyway, Besla had passed away when Sigrun was still a Lieutenant, but she left behind a litter of golden puppies who were all as smart and friendly as she was. Useless as guard dogs, Skeggi said, but he’d trained two of them to be hunting dogs alongside cats, and from what Sigrun had seen they’d become quite handsome and accomplished pups. Emil definitely reminded her of them, so she was probably right.

Speaking of dogs, Reynir’s Fylgja was definitely a dog. A puppy, most likely. And he himself was a shepherd, so it was probably a sheepdog puppy. She knew Buhunds had reddish coats, and those ridiculous curly tails, and were overly excitable and high-strung, which described Reynir to a T. And his patron god was probably Idunn, who was herself a farmer and a Goddess of youth. Although, the kid was a mage, and a boy, and those were said to be picked by Odin. 

She had trouble figuring out why Odin would have wanted Braidy, though. Boy mages were pretty rare, because Odin wasn’t as generous with his gifts as Freya was, but those that did have magic were said to be particularly good at seeing the future, which was Odin’s specialty. And, to be fair, Reynir  _ had  _ saved all of their asses from those ghosts. If he hadn’t been sent to them in a crate, they might not have been alive to bitch about quarantine.

Odin worked in mysterious ways, it seemed. 

“You’ve been quiet for twenty minutes now, which is never a good sign,” Mikkel turned to look at her with suspicion, “Is there something I should know?”

“Nope!” Sigrun assured with a wide grin.

Mikkel didn’t seem convinced.

“Fine, actually, can you ask Braidy if he knows what his Fylgja is?” she told him, “Mages are supposed to know that, right?”

Mikkel shot her an even  _ more  _ suspicious look, but in the end sighed and turned to yell at Braidy in Icelandic. Braidy, for his part, jumped nearly a meter in the air and fell off his bed in a flail of limbs.

Really, and this kid wanted to become a Military Mage? Fat chance if he didn’t toughen up and develop some spatial awareness. 

Finally, Braidy pressed his face to the glass so Mikkel could interrogate him. Sigrun, in what was for her an amazing display of patience, quietly waited until they were done yelling at each other with her in between.

“He says it’s an Icelandic Sheepdog,” Mikken finally translated. 

“Cool, so I was close!” She actually wasn’t sure what an Icelandic Sheepdog actually looked like, but she got the sheepdog part right. “Oh, oh! Can he tell what ours are?”

Mikkel was starting to look exasperated, but he nevertheless returned to yelling at Reynir in Icelandic. When he was done Braidy shrugged apologetically, and said a lot more nonsense while waving his hands around.

“He says he doesn’t know and that he would actually have to visit our Dreamspace to find out, and he doesn’t know how to find those that don’t belong to mages.” Mikkel translated with a smirk that was both amused and disbelieving. “Though, he’s been to Lalli and Onni’s Dreamspaces, and their animals are a lynx and an owl, respectively.”

“Ha, knew Twiggy is a cat!” Sigrun grinned. She was  _ so  _ good at this! 

“Though, apparently they call their companion spirits ‘Luontos’, and can actually take their shape in the Dreamspace.” Mikkel continued to translate Braidy’s babbling. “Last time he was in Onni’s Dreamspace, he went to pet an owl only to find out it was Onni himself.”

“Yeah, bet big brother was thrilled about that,” Sigrun laughed at him. Then slowed down with a hitch when she remembered  _ whose  _ big brother he was. Reynir’s shoulders slumping with guilt meant it had just occurred to him too.

“Are you feeling another bout of survivor’s guilt?” Mikkel asked mildly, finally putting a piece of paper into the pages of his book and turning to her. “You do remember me telling you it was not your fault?”

“Yeah, yeah, you repeated it a million times.” Though it still didn’t make it true. Sigrun tried to keep the grimace off her face by giving pushups another go. This time she managed twice as much before her arm started burning, then she turned around and started doing situps. Those didn’t really require her arms, so she focused on the burning of her abdominal muscles and didn’t think.

But, eventually, even she managed to tire herself out.

“Feeling better?” Mikkel asked. “If you are, how about another game of Battleships?”

“Only if you keep your ships on the  _ actual  _ grid this time!” Sigrun told him as she set her own pieces up.

“Fingers crossed,” Mikkel promised.

“Behind your back?” 

Mikkel smiled innocently. 

Yeah. Definitely Loki’s favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun is awesome, and totally a Dad Friend (Mikkel is, obvs, the Mom Friend). Proof? Every single one of her interactions with Emil. God dang it, knowing what we know of Emil's dad, he really needed it. Like, my boy Emil has such total faith in Sigrun he regularly walks into troll nests with her even though he's scared to death most of the time. Like, he would walk into a troll nest for Lalli because he's head over heels for him, but he'd walk into a troll nest for Sigrun to make her proud of him, and because he's sure she would come to his aid if he really needed it.
> 
> Also, this way I get to speculate about their Fylgjur. Mikkel's is a Duch Shire (Sigrun was a little off), Sigrun's is a Mountain Goat, Emil's is a Golden retriever. And Norwegian Buhunds are closely related to Icelandic Sheepdogs so Sigrun was pretty close on her guess of Reynir's.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah, haven't quite managed to finish this precisely at new year, but a five minute margin applies.
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

At this point in their extended quarantine stay, Emil wasn’t at all surprised to find himself lucid dreaming in strange and impossible places. This one appeared to be a fusion of a swamp and a really strange jungle, with muddy soil and blue plants. Emil spotted something that looked either like a very strange lizard or a very small dragon.

He was holding a butterfly net for some reason. Probably to catch the tiny red flowers, flapping their petals to fly around his head. Par for the course, as far as the settings for his and Lalli’s dream meetings went. There was only one problem.

He couldn’t find Lalli.

That bit was more unusual than the rest of the setting. All the other times, which was a grand total of three now, when Emil had appeared in a strange dream setting, more or less lucid, Lalli had always been within sight. Once fishing, and once in the middle of scouting, but Emil always spotted him within a minute of the dream starting.

Emil had been roaming for about ten minutes now, and still no sign of the reclusive Finn. Experimentally, Emil tried catching a few of the flying flowers, which tittered upon being touched. He tried very hard not to think about how weird that was.

He picked a random direction and started walking, which was as good a way to search for Lalli as any. Emil wondered if Lalli was purposely avoiding him. He’d thrown a fit today, or as much of a fit as Lalli allowed himself. When they were given lunch today, Lalli had thrown his cup, which was thankfully metal, against the glass wall with a hissing roar, paced a few times up and down his cell, and then ripped the sheets off his bed and curled up under it, completely covering himself with the bedding.

Emil had tried to coax him out with his best Finnish and simple Swedish, but Lalli hadn’t even twitched. He just laid there curled up under the sheets, completely still and silent, like everyone around him was a troll and he was a child trying to survive the night in the Silent World.

Emil eventually gave up. If Lalli didn’t want to interact there wasn’t anything Emil could do to force him. Not that he would, anyway. Sometimes people needed to lick their wounds in peace, and wait until they were scabbed over to let anyone near again.

Emil wondered if that time had actually come, or if he was intruding on Lalli’s dream. Lalli was fiercely protective of his personal space and Emil had done his level best to respect it, a few hiccups not withstanding. If Lalli didn’t want him here, then Emil was just going to leave, and come back later. There was only one problem with that.

He didn’t know how to leave, either. 

Their last two dreams had ended on weird triggers. Lalli throwing the fishing bobble at a flying fish. Emil smacking a mosquito-sized bat that tried to suck his blood. As his Aunt Siv would say, ‘not a big enough sample size to draw any conclusions’. She used that a lot when the terrible trio were asking questions she didn’t know the answer to.

Anyway, it meant Emil was stuck here for the time being. Maybe he _should_ try finding Lalli… If only to ask for directions.

As soon as he thought that, something petted his hair.

“WAAH?!?!” Emil jumped a foot in the air, almost hitting his head on a branch, and looked up.

There was a lynx resting on the branch, one of its front paws dangling down low enough to run through Emil’s hair.

“Oh,” Emil breathed out in relief, “You startled me. Bet you had a laugh about that.”

The lynx flicked its ear.

“Yeah, I thought so. You wouldn’t happen to know how to get out of here?” Emil asked, “Or at least how to find Lalli?”

The lynx’s expression, as much as it had one, didn’t change. The tip of its tail lazily flicked side to side, and it regarded Emil with a strange intensity. “Mrrp?” it seemed to ask.

Emil vaguely thought he was going crazy, but the lynx reminded him strangely of Lalli. Maybe because Lalli generally reminded him of a big cat that had mistakenly been born as a human and just rolled with it, or maybe it was the general aura the lynx projected, calling him stupid without saying a word.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Emil eyeballed the lynx. It didn’t seem inclined to claw his face off. In fact, it seemed kind of down. Depressed, even.

Well, it was a dream. Even if he did lose a hand, it would still be there when he woke up.

“You okay?” he asked the lynx quietly, offering his hand to sniff. The lynx once again looked at him like it thought he was the biggest moron that ever had the misfortune to walk the Earth, but didn’t even twitch an ear. 

Emil took it as permission. Slowly, making sure to telegraph his intentions, he drew his fingers through the soft, thick fur from nape to rump. 

Emil did not lose his hand. The lynx’s eyes fell nearly shut and its hunches relaxed. Emil did it again, this time pausing to scratch the back of its head gently. The lynx started purring, its eyes falling closed.

“You’re a cute little fella,” Emil cooed, “Very pretty, yes, good kitty, pretty kitty.”

It was a little embarrassing, but it wasn’t like anyone was around to see him. And besides, he got to pet an actual lynx! Sergeant Frida would probably call him a moron. And then give him a raise. If she actually managed to believe him, that is. She’d probably have trouble believing he’d managed to survive the Silent World at all.

He’d sent her a letter the other day, saying that he was alive and in one piece, quarantine was long and boring, he was hoping to return to work in the summer, he may or may not have made actual human friends, also did the cats miss him?

Considering how long it took him to actually compose, the letter was pretty short. 

When they were given the option to write letters, Emil’s first thought was that Sergeant Frida, the only superior other than Sigrun who actually liked him, would probably like some kind of confirmation that Emil hadn’t gotten his head ripped off and his brains eaten. Which she had made clear was how she expected him to die. In an effort to stop him from leaving, she had even offered to blackmail Emil’s boss into giving him a raise if he stayed. 

In the end, it hadn’t been enough to stop Emil from leaving, but felt nice that there was someone back home hoping he would return in one piece.

In the last line in the post scriptum, which had taken Emil longer than the rest of the letter, even said Emil might be returning with another person looking to join the ranks of the Cleansers.

 _Might be._ The emphasis was important.

Emil had no idea if Lalli would take that offer, considering he hadn’t even made it yet. But he wasn’t sure what Lalli was going to do, now that Tuuri was gone. Just go back to Finland and continue working as a scout in Keuruu? Maybe, but Emil knew that if he’d had to come back to Östersund after the fire he would have surely lost his mind. But even if Lalli didn’t want to return, Emil wasn’t sure what other options he had. And maybe he’d just realized that today, when he hid under the bed and stayed there.

Giving him another choice, simply putting it on the table for Lalli to decide if he wanted it, was the only thing Emil could think of to do to help. 

But that also meant he’d actually have to make that offer at some point. He still had no idea _how,_ but if there was anything he’d learned in the Silent World and under Sigrun’s tutelage, was that hesitating for too long might very well cost him his head.

Or in this case, his friend.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he told the lynx, running his thumbs along its cheeks, just behind the roots of his whiskers, “I have to go find my friend before the dream ends. I have something important to tell him.”

The lynx cracked his eyes open a bit to regard him, but otherwise didn’t react to the sudden lack of Emil’s gentle attentions. 

“It was nice to meet you,” Emil gave it one last scritch behind the ears, “I hope we see each other again. Bye.”

He took his butterfly net and turned around to go looking for Lalli. He’d made it perhaps three steps away from the tree before he was knocked flat on his face by something heavy jumping onto his back.

 _“Mrrrh!”_ the lynx growled into his ear, its claws digging themselves into Emil’s shoulderblades. 

“Ow,” Emil said, “Was that really necessary?”

The lynx made some kind of weird sound, like a muted ambulance siren, and dug his claws in further.

“Argh, let me up!” Emil squirmed. The lynx didn’t get off. “Look, if I get the chance I’ll come find you again, but right now I really have to find Lalli!”

The lynx, to nobody’s surprise, didn’t budge, and he was a bit too heavy for Emil to just throw off if it didn’t want to let go. Emil sighed and slumped down into the dirt. Great, now he’d lost a fight to an overgrown cat. If Sigrun ever found out about this, she’s probably disown him. Or maybe not, but only if she assumed that by ‘overgrown cat’ he meant Lalli, and not an _actual cat_.

“Fine, you win,” he groaned into the mud, “I’ll go look for Lalli later. Let me up.”

“Mrrrrh,” the lynx kneaded his paws into Emil’s back, as if debating with himself whether Emil was sincere or not. Emil just played dead, because that was what you did when you came across a beast, right? Maybe this one would actually move if he was no longer interesting. It was worth a shot at least.

“Mrrp?” the lynx purred inquiringly and snuffled the back of Emil’s head. Emil still didn’t move. “Mrrr!”

“Again, if you want me to do anything, you have to get off my back first,” Emil told the uncaring dirt. 

The lynx atop his back, which Emil decided to christen ‘Mr. Murderbritches’ in a fit of pettiness, finally unsheathed its claws from Emil’s shirt, but still didn’t move. _Good enough,_ thought Emil, and abruptly twisted his spine and shoulders sideways, throwing the lynx off and rolling up in the same move. This time he didn’t even bruise his hip upon using it as a torsion center. Sigrun’s teaching at its finest.

The lynx fell off, but didn’t stay off for long. It twisted its spine like a spring and used the same momentum that sent it tumbling to launch itself back at Emil, sending him sprawling right back into the dirt. At least this time he was on his back instead of on his nose.

“ _Mreee!”_ Mr. Murderbritches yowled straight into Emil’s face. It curled itself up into a loaf on top of Emil’s chest, butted its face right under his chin, and started purring shakily. Emil could tell immediately it wasn’t a happy purr, but the kind of purr that cats made when they were in distress and trying to calm themselves.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Emil ran his hands along the lynx's sides, instinctively trying to comfort it. "It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. What's wrong?"

The lynx couldn't tell him, of course. Even if it was a dream lynx, it still couldn't talk. So Emil was left to try and communicate with vague gestures and his best guess at understanding body language.

Well, at least he'd gotten plenty of practice at that this past winter.

He managed to gently maneuver the lynx low enough that he could sit up and cross his legs. Apparently content that Emil wasn't going anywhere, Mr. Murderbritches curled up in the cradle of his legs and shoved its face into Emil's belly. Emil continued to run his hands along its back until its purrs didn't sound like vibrating sobs anymore.

"Better?" Emil asked, now stroking his fingers around the base of its ears. 

"Mrrp," the lynx said. It cracked its eyes open to look up at Emil, then slowly and deliberately blinked.

"You're welcome," Emil smiled, letting his own eyes go squinty. It seemed some things were truly universal in cat language. He sighed.

"If only all problems could be solved with petting," he told Mr. Murderbritches, "I might actually be able to help Lalli, instead of fumbling around like this. Then again, there's currently a glass wall between us. Literally."

"Mrrrh," Mr. Murderbritches said. Emil chose to take it as comiseration.

“He’s been through so much in such a short time and nobody is even letting him catch a break,” Emil told Mr. Murderbritches, “Least of all himself.”

Mr. Murderbritches flicked an ear in agreement.

“And after all that, he’s stuck with no one to talk to for four weeks, and the closest grief counselor who knows Finnish might as well be on the other side of the world. And the less said about my own Finnish the better,” Emil sighed with abject misery, “Lalli didn’t even laugh at how bad it is, _that’s_ how depressed he is.”

“Prrrh,” Mr. Murderbritches purred into Emil’s side, which Emil also chose to interpret as agreement.

“Glad you think so too,” he told it. Mr. Murderbritches turned in his lap to find a more comfortable position, which incidentally left its belly exposed. Emil dug his fingers deep into the luxurious fur and rubbed the soft belly in slow, gentle circles. The lynx purred louder.

“You know, I really should go find my friend,” Emil said after a few minutes, “Dreams like this one is the only time we can talk without language barriers, and I have something important to tell him. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance like this again sometime soon.”

The lynx, predictably, dug its claws into Emil’s thigh as soon as he said that. But after a few moments it sighed, slumped and let go. It didn’t leave Emil’s lap on its own, but it didn’t protest being removed either.

“Thank you,” Emil said as soon as the lynx was back on its feet. Its tail flicked in irritation, so Emil took its face in his hands and stroked his thumbs along its cheeks to soothe it. The lynx’s eyes fell shut in pleasure.

“I hope I dream about you again,” Emil told it with a squinty-eyed smile, “You’re a good kitty, Mr. Murderbritches.”

The lynx’s pale blue eyes were suddenly wide open. “What did you just call me?!”

“Wha-?” Emil froze, because _did that lynx talk just now?,_ but of course that was when the dream fell apart and Emil found himself thrown into a dining room chair in his old home.

Emil was left staring at his plate, contemplating a strange new thought with a near debilitating level of horrified embarrassment.

That lynx, with its blue eyes with that _look_ in them, calling Emil stupid without a single word, and its sad purrs and its protesting murrs-

When it spoke, the lynx sounded _exactly_ like Lalli.

Emil really, _really_ hoped it was just a very strange dream, no magic involved whatsoever.

But then, Emil was used to his hopes being in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with [ART](https://trashpocket.tumblr.com/post/639569220867407872/for-the-art-prompt-ive-seen-catboylalli-art)!!!!! By the amazing, marvelous, talented [Trashpocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/pseuds/trashpocket)!!!! Go look at it. Gogogogogogogogo


End file.
